


Twenty-First

by dresdendisco



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:41:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25780786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dresdendisco/pseuds/dresdendisco
Summary: Even though he's finally twenty-one, the single person Ryan longs for is on the other side of the country, and he can only thank God for technology and six-hour flights.So he does. He flies, overnight, to his one and lonely.
Relationships: Ryan Ross/Brendon Urie
Kudos: 11





	Twenty-First

**Author's Note:**

> Not mine !!!!!  
> all credits to the original author

"On behalf of United Airlines and the entire crew, I’d like to thank you for joining us on this trip and we are looking forward to seeing you on board again in the near future. Have a nice stay!”

The air hostess’ voice crackles out as her speech comes to an end, everyone around me mechanically standing up and reaching overhead for their suitcases and bags. I know it’s pointless to stand up now, and yet I do, shouldering my backpack, staring at the entrance of the cabin at the other end of the plane. These are times where I wish I could just teleport to wherever he is, to avoid all the late night traffic and the East Coast tourists and have his skin against mine as fast as I can.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I take it out, reading the address Brendon’s just texted me, my heart leaping at how close I am already. It’s been my birthday for almost twenty hours now, but it’s only just begun to feel that way. With him across the country, it didn’t matter how many people were at the party Keltie threw me or how stupid that picture on their shirt was. It wasn’t right.

The line formed in between the seats finally starts moving forward, an indication that they finally opened the doors. I step into it, cutting off the middle aged man behind me, but I don’t linger long enough to hear whether he curses at me. We’re in the same city now. The chatter of people around is just loud enough for me not to zone out completely, not to imagine how it’ll feel when I finally have him for myself again, both still jet lagged from Europe but at least reunited.

Pete suggested Angels & Kings for the party, and Keltie was only too eager to accept. It was good publicity, and it made sense. Twenty-one, finally legal. Only Spencer and Brendon weren’t, but that didn’t matter. We have a show in Seattle on September first, and it’s best if the rest of the band’s there already, Pete said, as though he’s our manager.

Breaking our whispered promises of twenty-first birthdays together was hard, but Brendon boarded the LA flight without looking back, and surely that was for the better. I don’t want to know whether there were tears in his eyes. Knowing him, there probably were, and I can never walk away from him when he cries.

Stepping out of the aircraft is just as easy as it was to leave Keltie, asleep in our bed, and there’s something so very wrong about that but I forbid myself to think about it, because now the night is ours. I’ve done my duties, given the cameras present enough drunken smiles, kissed Keltie enough tonight. Now it’s time for the performer to retire to his dressing room, to take off the stage makeup and wipe the layer of pretence away. It’s time to be real.

I tighten my grip on the strap of my backpack as I walk up to the arrival gates, despite knowing very well that he won’t be here. We can’t risk someone photographing us together at Seattle Airport, can’t let anyone know that I’ve booked a flight to fly across the country on my birthday night, after having spent the evening with all the somebodies in New York City.

But New York City felt empty without him, and I know Seattle is alive as I hail a cab, surprised by the rain even though I’m sure I heard the air hostess tell us about it when we landed. I welcome it; it’s almost like the sky itself is cleansing, washing away all the bullshit I’ve heard around tonight, leaving only him. I tell the driver the address, and he nods silently as the car starts speeding through the streets, the rain tapping gently against the windshield.

I see him as soon as the cab comes to a stop, behind the window of the diner he’s given me the address of, and my guts twist with hope, like I half-expected him not to be here. I pay the driver and step out of the car, noticing that it’s almost stopped raining. The streets are lit up by the lampposts, the puddles on the wet concrete reflecting the glowing sign over the entrance of the restaurant.

I stop for a second before crossing the street, just to look at him, how he is when he thinks no one’s watching. His grey hood is over his head, his mouth closed, hands on the table like an obedient child, fiddling with something that I can’t see. I chuckle to myself, because that’s something so undeniably him. He can never be quite still.

There’s melancholy in the scene, though, and something that feels not unlike loneliness, too. The diner’s almost empty, and a waitress goes up to him, probably to ask him whether he’d like something to drink. He looks up, startled, a polite smile forming on his lips as he answers her, shaking his head. The smile disappears almost as soon as she leaves, and he checks his phone, worried.

I feel mine buzz against my leg and I smile, finally walking to cross the empty road. I can imagine what his text says without even looking at it. Some variation of _where are u?_ or _hope u haven’t forgotten_. He’s always afraid I’ll forget, our rendezvous, our stolen moments between sets. He’s always afraid, but I never forget. It’s hard to fathom how it'd be possible for me to forget when he’s all I can think about whenever he’s not around. But he doesn't know that, I guess. Maybe I don’t let him know often enough.

I push the door open and walk towards him, half-hoping that he won’t see me until I sit down at his booth, but he raises his head as soon as the door slams, eyes lighting up like he can’t believe I’m here, even though I promised him earlier today, when I booked my plane ticket right before Keltie whisked me away for the party.

Brendon doesn’t say anything as he puts his arms around my shoulders, letting out a sigh of relief as though he just had to make sure I’m real. I bury my face into his neck and breathe him in, feeling the tension in my shoulders drain away as I close my eyes. He’s home.

“You’re here,” he says as we finally pull away, but only because we’re in public. If this were a hotel room, my hands would already be all over him.

“I told you I’d be. What, did you think I was playing you?” I chuckle offhandedly, but I know he probably did. Brendon doesn’t believe in something unless it’s right in front of him. And now I am.

He shrugs, sliding back into the booth, and I do the same. “I don’t know,” he says. “Could’ve been a sleep-deprivation induced hallucination. You don’t do things like this.”

“What, impulsive things?” I stare at him, and he runs a hand through his hair, his hood falling back limply. I glance back at the counter, but the waitress is probably out back.

“Yeah. Leaving your girlfriend after she’s thrown you a birthday party. Buying tickets hours before the plane leaves. Things like that.”

The word girlfriend sounds bitter in his mouth, and I know he thinks she chose a club on purpose, just so that he couldn’t be there. It doesn’t matter how many times I try and tell him it was Pete’s suggestion. He’ll always blame it on her, but I don’t want to fight right now. Not tonight.

“New York wasn’t where I wanted to be tonight,” I tell him, and it’s the truth. If he had been there, that would’ve been a different story. He smiles weakly, and I notice the shadows under his eyes and the hair falling into his face.

“You did a pretty good job of escaping it, then,” he says, pulling on the sleeves of his hoodie. “Ran all the way to Seattle.” He lifts his eyebrows in mock admiration. “Impressive.”

I snort and pick up my fork, poking his hand with it. “You need to stop laughing at me for flying all this way for you and wish me a happy birthday instead.”

Brendon shakes his head, tearing off a bit of his napkin. Little bits of paper are already strewing the table, twisted into various shapes. It’s a familiar sight; he’s always tearing things apart whenever his hands are idle. He smirks, looking up at me. “Not yet.”

The waitress comes back and takes our orders, a waffle for him, a milkshake for me. He doesn’t tell me how long he’s been here or how many times he’s told the waitress he’s waiting for someone to arrive, but he digs into his plate so ravenously that it must've been a while. I can’t help but smile at the thought of him wanting to wait for me. 

We finish up soon enough, both eager to be somewhere where we can finally be alone and unafraid to be, not hiding from techs or tour managers. He insists on paying and I let him, partly because he’s already insisted on paying half of my plane ticket, but I wouldn’t say yes to that. The label would pay me back only if I was the one who paid the entirety of the thing.

Outside, the rain’s turned into some kind of half-assed, unconvincing drizzle, but Brendon pulls his hood up anyway, a slight breeze making us both shiver. September comes early up north. I suddenly regret not having brought anything warmer, but the soundless happiness from having him near is still burning inside me.

“Where to?” I start to ask him, but a girl walks up to us before he has time to answer, the dazed look in her eyes a clear sign of what she’s about to ask.

“You— You’re Ryan and Brendon, right? Oh my God, can I have a picture?”

I take a deep breath but Brendon smiles graciously, nodding. “Yeah, sure, c’mon,” he says, leaning towards her as I realise she’s with an older woman, probably her mother, who already has a small camera in her hands. I shuffle closer, forcing a smile as the flash goes off, blinding me for a split second, although it’s supposedly nothing I’m unused to by now.

She thanks us countlessly before leaving, casting glances over her shoulders like she can’t believe she just bumped into two members of her favourite band — according to her — outside of a diner in Seattle. I don’t think about what they were doing out at this time of night.

“I’ll never get used to this,” I sigh when I’m sure they’re out of earshot. “It’s so fucking random. We could be smoking pot and they’d come up to us to ask for an autograph.”

Brendon chuckles and shrugs, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his hoodie as he looks in the direction they left in. “Let’s just hope she doesn’t assume anything.”

I press closer to him, sneaking my hand into his pocket to twine my fingers with his. Sometimes I like to think about what would happen if we were truly found out. If someone caught us kissing offstage, if someone in the crew was dumb enough to take a picture. I know Keltie would freak the fuck out, and so would Pete. I know he’s just trying to keep this band together and that’s he’s probably suspicious, but he irritates me. He needs to stay the fuck away from us, because even if we do owe him, he doesn’t get to control our lives.

Brendon looks at me again and smiles softly in the light of the lamppost, his fingers squeezing mine lightly. My stomach suddenly fills with butterflies that I won’t let escape anytime soon. “Shall we?”

———

“Sorry I couldn’t find anything better for tonight,” Brendon says, back to the sheepish, awkward stance he reverts to whenever he thinks what he has planned isn’t good enough. I know him well enough by now to know that it’s either that, or the cocky, over-confident behaviour he exudes onstage and with people he doesn’t know too well. People he cares about is another story; he’s always afraid he’s not enough. “They said they’d only move us to better rooms the night before the show.” He clicks his tongue. “Tight-fisted assholes.”

“It’s funny that you think I care about the hotel room,” I say, pulling my headband off, tossing it onto the small table that stands in a corner of the room. This thing’s been stuck to my forehead for way too many hours now. I couldn’t care less about the room, it could be falling apart and I’d still feel the same. This, now, him, is what I truly wanted. Not booze or whatever I just became legal for. Him. Standing just a few feet away, his hair damp beneath the grey hood he still hasn’t taken off, as though he’s waiting for me to do it.

“You don’t care about the hotel room,” he repeats in a low voice, seemingly either processing the sentence or trying to make himself believe it. If it’s the latter, though, I take a few steps towards him to prove it, closing the distance between us. The fake buttons on his hoodie gleam under the ceiling light as I pull it off him before capturing his lips in a slow kiss, something we don’t have the luxury of doing very often. His hands automatically come to cup my face, his fingers grazing my jaw as I coax his mouth open, my tongue slipping on his as I pull him closer, closer, as close as I can before it starts being not close enough. I start working on the metallic button of his jeans, and his breathing hitches when my hand grazes his crotch, rock hard beneath the denim. Fuck.

We get rid of my vest and his hands unbutton my shirt feverishly as I leave trails of kisses in his neck and along his collarbone, finally free of all the guilt that I carry everywhere I go, but the urgency and the adrenaline still here, because I want him in every way it’s possible to want someone. He pulls me back up to bring our lips together again, and his hands are febrile on my skin, on my back, caressing me like she never knew how to.

Brendon pulls me down on him as he lays on the small bed and we make love with the lights on, his lips parting to whisper my name in shuddery breaths, making my heart skip a beat everytime I hear him, one word as proof that he needs me just as much as I need him.

“Happy birthday,” he whispers as we lay together, tangled in the sheets, and at that moment I don’t want to find words to explain how much I’ve wanted this, and that it was all I wanted for my twenty-first, so I tilt his chin up to reach his mouth and kiss him softly. “I wish I had something else for you,” he adds after our lips part and he places his head back on my chest, tracing haphazard patterns on my stomach. “I just didn’t have time after I got back to LA and—”

“I don’t want anything other than this, you know.” He looks up at me, brown eyes bright, his hair a mess. I take a deep breath, blinking slowly. “Out of everything I’ve gotten today, the party, the cake, the legal age,” — Brendon snorts — “Flying for six hours across the country is somehow the best thing I got, ‘cause now I’m here.”

“Yeah. Shitty hotel room in Seattle. You hit the jackpot, huh?”

I nudge him. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Brendon hums and closes his eyes, eyelashes dark against his skin. I leave a kiss on his forehead, knowing that tomorrow when Keltie wakes up, this will have to be over. But for tonight, just for tonight, I let this small hotel room in an unfamiliar state be my home, just because he’s here, in my arms, letting sleep peacefully take over his senses. Because we don’t have anyone but ourselves to hide from, and I know I’ve bared myself to him. Because of the rain that’s resumed softly outside our window, and because the sun is so, so many hours away. Because I get to whisper my thanks to him in the form of three words that I’m just as unfamiliar with before falling asleep. Tomorrow is another day and tonight, the moon never goes down.


End file.
